


last night yew were a dream

by kaermorons



Series: Treefucker Geralt [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt sleepwalks to his fuck tree and the fuck tree has ideas, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Somnophilia, Treefucker Geralt, sentient trees, that's all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26941048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Geralt knows the path to his tree blind, injured, and asleep. He tests that third one, to the tree's excitement.Written for Kinktober Day 11: Somnophilia
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Tree
Series: Treefucker Geralt [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962697
Comments: 18
Kudos: 84
Collections: Witcher Kinktober Ring





	last night yew were a dream

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth of my 10 prompts I'm doing for Kinktober, which I'm sharing with my wonderful friends [fishie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_about_the_fish/pseuds/what_about_the_fish) and [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/AC-DD) (link to her kinktober pseud).
> 
> See you on Saturday.

Geralt had been feeling off for a while. A strange itch had moved in under his skin, and not even the regular evening talks around the fire with his brothers had been able to keep the disorienting feeling at bay. Geralt paced the castle late into the nights, oftentimes when he was sleeping, finding himself clear across Kaer Morhen, bare-footed in the snow when he would wake.

He refused to think about why he could have been so stressed out as to be walking around in his sleep, why he felt uncomfortable in his own skin. The probable answer was most likely one ill-fated child of surprise miles and miles away, inside a Cintran princess.

He could not be a father, he knew that for certain. He would ruin a child as soon as he got his hands on one that belonged to him. Just look at what had happened to Jaskier. The man was college-educated, renowned, and now banned from an entire country’s court because of Geralt’s stupid mouth.

He was certain he just needed to beat the stress into submission, how he usually dealt with all of his self-made problems. He brewed strong tea, kept a brutal training regimen, and ran the walls at night to keep from falling asleep.

It didn’t work.

* * *

The tree had seen Geralt walking around aimlessly before, the man tended to get lost in his thoughts more often than most humans. This was...different.

Geralt moved over the ridge with his eyes almost entirely closed, arms hanging limp at his sides. It seemed like only his legs knew they were going anywhere, his head lolling to the side a little. The tree would have cocked its head, had it possessed one.

The tree was suddenly being hugged and...humped by the Witcher.  _ Oh, he’s here for that? Alright.  _ The tree had no problem weaving up the usual nest, lifting Geralt up and in. The rest of the covering wove together, leaving the inside insulated and slowly warming from the magic of the two together.

But the tree also knew Geralt was here to fuck, and wouldn’t deny its Witcher anything. Gently, the tree plucks Geralt’s sleep pants off of his body, maneuvering him into place. Geralt was uncharacteristically quiet, but the tree didn’t mind. Slowly, the tree opened its lover on its vines, only the warmest ones for Geralt. Geralt snuffled a little, but didn’t say anything.

_ Maybe he just wants to get down to business. I get that. _

Slowly, the tree filled Geralt up, playing with his nipples and cock how the tree likes best. The Witcher melted into the tree’s hold, the stronger branches taking all of his weight, keeping him off the floor of the nest. At Geralt’s slurred muttering, the tree realized: its Witcher was asleep.

The thought that Geralt would walk to the tree even in his sleep was enough to warm its heartwood, and its mind set alight with at least four thoughts. It was getting better about having thoughts, to be honest.

It also realized that Geralt was ready to...well, ready to fuck, as the tree saw it. The tree had played no games in its life, it had only heard a few (very bad) jokes Geralt had told, but the tree started forming a little game in its mind. How long could it go, how  _ far _ could it go, before Geralt woke up? How many of their usual activities, now so familiar after all these seasons, could fly by unnoticed, with Geralt in sleep’s grasp? It wanted to find out.

Slowly, making sure the nest was secure and insulated, the tree divested Geralt of his clothes. It prided itself on the deftness of its branches in undoing ties and buckles and latches, each piece falling off with a soft noise. Geralt made a happy noise when the tree brushed a warm branch over his middle, a pleasant embrace.

The tree could see without eyes, could tell without senses that Geralt’s sleepy walk around the castle was borne of stress. The tree knew a bit about stress: too-long, too-hot summers which killed all the shade and punished a few weeks more after that, too-cold winters that would freeze the very bones of it, would send aches and stiffness in its roots. But for now, Geralt needed rest, and comfort, and from the feeling of his tense muscles, relief.

There’d been a feral cat colony growing in the forest surrounding the tree and its family. From these creatures, it had learned a little more of the human form - Geralt’s eyes matched those of the cats, so what could be different? The tree rounded off parts of its smoother branches, and kneaded at muscles long-tightened from hardships on the Path. A low grown fell from Geralt’s lips, but he remained asleep.  _ Good, _ the tree thought.  _ Winning this game. _

After the knots (and how delighted the tree was, to discover  _ knots _ in Geralt’s body!) were worked out and soothed away, Geralt melted like spring snow in its branches. The tree kept this gentle rocking motion, keeping Geralt suspended and away from any walls in the nest.

Curiously, the tree prodded against Geralt’s hole, where they normally liked to play most. Relaxed as he was, Geralt hardly stirred, even after not one, not two, but three slim branches trying to ease him open. The tree kept away from his nipples, knowing how sensitive they were, and his prick, though it was filling quickly with bloodrush and leaking a little at the tip. The tree couldn’t help itself; one of the sucking boughs reached down and wicked away that moisture, summer-hot and sweet as ever.

With the bit of renewed chaos, the first of the winter season, the tree delved deeper into Geralt’s body, pressing away from that spot that made Geralt shout, usually. Gently, always gently, the tree pressed its favored member into Geralt’s slick and stretched hole. Another low, soft groan passed the Witcher’s lips, and was kept inside the nest. As slow as the tree could, it fucked Geralt full of its slick and the scent of winter. With more of Geralt’s own seed hitting the tree’s limbs, it soon had enough power to grow a few berries one of their children had seen a few springs past. Geralt seemed to like when the tree gave him something to put in his mouth.

The tree prided itself on keeping Geralt subdued and safe in its hold. Geralt hummed happily as it scraped softly over that shouting-spot inside him, but did now wake. And when Geralt had come, spilling lazily against his bare chest, the tree poured all its lover into him, from the deepest point in its heartwood to the tallest of its canopy.

The tree would not use more than it was given, however. It recognized the slight panting Geralt was doing, and as gently as it could, the tree opened the nest to let fresh air in. It breathed when Geralt breathed, and the tree never let go. All it wanted was to trace the small smile on his face, and keep it there forever.

The tree basked in the love it felt from their children. They would have to regrow their family, but it was still vast, and strong, and magical. Sometimes, Geralt would even plant their child at the base of the mountain, but no further than that. At the thought of the distances traveled that Geralt would speak of on the Path, the tree found itself doing something for the very first time:

It made a wish.

The specifics of that wish, dear reader, are quite obvious. The tree wanted to be able to be with its mate for every season, not just the long winters and short springs. From the dangers Geralt had mentioned, the tree knew it would have been able to protect him. The tree tightened its hold on Geralt for a moment, more branches coming to drape over his body. It cherished the Witcher with every bit of itself. It would burn to keep him warm, and would never regret a moment with him.

These deep thoughts took quite the toll on the tree, however, and by the time it realized that it was in  _ love _ with the Witcher, the sun had risen, and so too was the Witcher rousing from his sleep.

Confused at first, Geralt made a panicked noise and a jolt of movement, held fast by the branches. The tree set him down on the pile of clothes beneath him, letting the warmth of the day seep into the nest. Geralt got his bearings quickly, recognizing this place from all his dreams of home, but shook his head when he could not remember how he got there.

Geralt pulled his sleep tunic over his head, and...didn’t feel that twinge in his neck which had been bothering him for a month. When he stretched out his muscles, he felt less pain than he had all year. That was, of course, with the exception of the ache in his ass, telling him of exactly what he and the tree had gotten up to that evening.

“You sly little beast,” Geralt chuckled. The tree brushed the hair off his face affectionately, letting some morning light in the nest just to see those beautiful golden eyes again. “Thank you for the help, my friend,” Geralt added, softer. He took hold of a nearby branch and kissed it, letting it twine around his fingers and palm and wrist. It was almost like they were holding hands. The thought made him blush. “Might have to do another few sleepovers with you. How’s that sound?”

The tree made a happy creaking noise, and said nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://kaermorons.tumblr.com/).


End file.
